


come and go

by evenings



Series: you're the sunflower [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Screenplay/Script Format, Secret Identity, spidermark and vigilante!hyuck, the ageless classic: 2 best friends oblivious to the fact that the other's also a superhero, well a mix of prose and screenplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenings/pseuds/evenings
Summary: He sinks into his chair, sets his coffee on the floor, and massages his temples as he tries to think. See, no matter how much Donghyuck gripes about him, Spider-Man is really cute. Like,reallycute. But as endearing as his laugh and his stupid jokes and his accidental fumbles are, Donghyuck's years-long crush on Mark Lee isn't just going to magically disappear.Or: Life's hard when you're a superhero. (Also when you have a huge crush on both your best friendandSpider-Man, but hey—we don't talk about that part.)
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: you're the sunflower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167908
Comments: 18
Kudos: 183
Collections: Challenge #5 — I heard a secret..





	come and go

**Author's Note:**

> like everyone else i'm a huge fan of spidermark and i also used to be a huge fan of marvel so this is me kind of smushing those two together except i wanted hyuck to be a superhero too so He Is. for the marvel fans who may recognise it, hyuck's abilities/backstory are very loosely based off nova (the sam alexander version of the character!)
> 
> unbetaed (as usual.) nevertheless, enjoy <3

DONGHYUCK:

 _(Sighs)_ Fine. Let’s do this one last time. My name is Lee Donghyuck. I’m seventeen. I’m a high school junior. 

CUE: A montage of Donghyuck: crowded up against the wall in the subway on his way to school, striding through the halls, spinning his pencil between his fingers in a Biology lesson with a bored expression on his face. 

DONGHYUCK:

You’re not gonna believe this, but six months ago I was in the park at three a.m. in the morning doing research for my project when the weirdest thing happened. 

CUE: True to his word, it’s Donghyuck, wearing a jacket and sweatpants, the contents of his backpack strewn over the grass. It’s the middle of the night. The park is completely deserted. There’s a telescope set up on the grass and Donghyuck’s bent nearly double in order to peer through it at the night sky—scattered with tiny stars like little white pinpricks. 

Except for one. Donghyuck straightens up, squints at the sky. It’s so bright that it’s visible even without the telescope, and—he blinks—it’s getting brighter, and bigger (???) and closer ( _???)_ —

CUE: Brilliant, blazing white. It takes a full few seconds for the glow to fade. 

DONGHYUCK:

Yeah. That. 

CUE: The morning after. Donghyuck opens his eyes and he’s lying on the grass, cheek smushed up against the ground. The world spins as he tries to sit up and groans in obvious pain. There’s a dirt stain on the knee of his sweatpants. 

He sits up, gets his bearings, and looks around. A woman jogging past gives him a very concerned glance, but she keeps going and doesn’t stop to ask further. Other than a few early risers who are either getting their morning runs in or walking their dogs, the park’s still pretty empty. The telescope’s fallen on its side. 

Slowly, he curls his hand into a fist. There’s a glow to it, almost, a kind of otherworldly aura rippling just under the skin. Something about his hand looks different, even if it’s just skin and bone and muscle. Something feels different. 

Jokingly, Donghyuck points his hand at the grass. 

The second he does it, a beam of pure energy shoots from his palm and scorches along the grass, inches from the telescope. Donghyuck jerks back in shock. He closes his hand into a fist on reflex and the beam shuts off instantly, leaving a shallow trench burnt into the field, smoke still curling from its edges. 

He stares at it. In the distance a dog starts barking. 

DONGHYUCK (THEN):

 _(Bewildered)_ What the _fuck?_

* * *

DONGHYUCK:

So yeah. That happened. I got struck by a falling star—still open to discussion on that one—and the next day I woke up and I could shoot pure energy from my hands. I think the energy responded to my emotions, so for the first week it was a total disaster.

CUE: Donghyuck glares at the wall, then at the electrical circuit model set up on his table. There are several conspicuous scorch marks on the walls of his room. 

DONGHYUCK:

 _And_ I could fly. 

CUE: The rooftop of Donghyuck’s house. He takes a deep breath and steps off the roof—

—and plummets downwards like a stone before his fall decelerates rapidly and he’s hovering three feet above the ground. He wobbles up and down and to the side several times. It feels like standing on a platform of gelatin, if gelatin were harder and rippled like the ocean. 

Then, without any warning, he falls forward and hits the ground, face-first. 

DONGHYUCK:

( _Dryly)_ Needless to say, that went well. 

Anyway, that’s all I can do for now. Shoot energy from my hands and fly—it’s a lot more stable now. I told Renjun about all of this, and he said I should be called Supernova. But I think any name that has “super” in it completely defeats the whole point of being called a superhero, so now I go by Nova. Just Nova.

_(Faint voice in the background.)_

DONGHYUCK:

Shut up, I know Superman exists. That’s different. Calling yourself “super-something” when you’re _not_ Superman is just lame. Back to the point—where was I? Oh, right! Half credits to Renjun, I guess, since I’m using half of the name he came up with. 

_(Voice in the background comes again. This time it sounds faintly like “You’re welcome.”)_

_(A second voice this time. It sounds like it’s asking a question.)_

DONGHYUCK:

 _(Audibly smiling)_ Oh, it’s very anticlimactic. No “great-power-comes-great-responsibility” shtick. We were walking home from the store at night and someone tried to mug us. He had a Swiss knife and everything. I panicked and blasted him into the nearest wall.

CUE: Donghyuck and Renjun, walking down the street, the neon lights of a convenience store visible behind them. A block further down, as they pass an alley, someone grabs them and yanks them into the alleyway. Renjun swears colourfully as the shadows clear and they make out a man wearing a ski mask, broad-shouldered and solidly built. There’s the telltale glint of metal in his hand. Renjun swears some more. 

MUGGER (THEN):

Wallets. Now. Or else—

CUE: He doesn’t even finish his sentence. Light flares up in the alleyway and he’s blown right off his feet by the blast of white energy that explodes out of Donghyuck’s hands, slamming into the brick wall behind him with an audible yell. The mugger’s legs give out and he slumps into a heap on the ground. 

RENJUN (THEN):  
Oh my God.

He prods the man gently with his foot. 

RENJUN (THEN):

Did you kill him?

DONGHYUCK (THEN):

 _(Slightly alarmed)_ I don’t think so?

_(The second voice asks something again.)_

DONGHYUCK:

 _(Indignantly)_ What do I look like? Of course I didn’t kill him. The second he tried to get up we ran the fuck away and didn’t look back. I have no idea. Can I do this without any more interruptions?

_(An apologetic sound.)_

DONGHYUCK:

As I was saying. After that, I think the whole superhero thing just. Happened? I don’t know. I’d always read a ton of comic books as a kid, and I mean, who hasn’t heard of the group of heroes up in New York? Johnny Seo and that magic doctor and—who knows what else they have at this point, I stopped keeping up with them once I had my own stuff to deal with.

CUE: Donghyuck and Renjun in Donghyuck’s room, surrounded by large piles of clothing, all black. Renjun’s seated at the table with a sewing machine and is shifting the fabric miniscule amounts with every stitch made. On the floor, needle and thread in hand, Donghyuck’s hands are moving much more slowly. Renjun glances back down at him.

RENJUN (THEN):

(Exasperated) The needle comes out there _,_ not through _there—_

* * *

DONGHYUCK:

The suit was Renjun’s idea. The mask, too. Actually, I’d probably be dead or in the public eye by now if it weren’t for Renjun, but I’ve been doing this for four months now and nothing’s gone wrong yet. We have a system going. And it’s good! It is! We figured it out. We’ve got this. 

CUE: Donghyuck in his superhero suit, sweaty and disheveled, sprawled across the floor of his room. Renjun’s sitting beside him with a box of pizza on his lap. There’s what looks like a crudely modified radio in the corner. Both of them are eating and (in Donghyuck’s case) staring up at the ceiling in exhaustion. It’s interrupted by—

RENJUN (THEN):

Hyuck, if you get crumbs on that suit, so help me God, I _will_ kill you. 

* * *

DONGHYUCK:

So here’s the good news: I’m not the only superhero in Queens.

CUE: Spider-Man, swinging down from a building as he chases after a robber in a ski mask. He drops to the sidewalk, sticks the landing perfectly, and immediately shoots a web at the man that pins him to the wall. 

DONGHYUCK:

Here’s the _bad_ news: I’m not the only superhero in Queens.

* * *

“ _What_ is _up_ with you,” Donghyuck says exasperatedly. “Are you tracking me? Why are you _here_?”

“I’m not!” Spider-Man raises his hands in defense. “I swear! I just thought you could use some help, dude!”

“I don’t,” Donghyuck says waspishly. He’s still hovering slightly off the ground from the force of his irritation; he exhales, tries to calm himself, and his feet hit solid ground in seconds. “Your concern is appreciated. Thank you. Good night. Go home. I have this covered.” 

He turns to the robber and promptly starts considering how to remove the webbing to transport him to the police station. Spider-Man comes to stand beside him, crossing his arms. 

“Yeah,” Spider-Man says archly into Donghyuck’s ear. “And whose webbing is that?”

“That doesn’t mean shit, I was literal seconds behind you,” Donghyuck grumbles. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Nova.” Spider-Man sounds unreasonably pleased with himself. Donghyuck’s willing to bet good money he’s grinning behind that mask. 

* * *

They end up calling in anonymously to the police and giving them the location. (“Why did you have to web him to the wall,” Donghyuck grumbles. “Next time you can do it yourself,” Spider-Man counters.) 

* * *

DONGHYUCK:

This—

CUE: Spider-Man, in all his red-and-blue glory, swinging from the buildings, backflipping across rooftops. 

DONGHYUCK:

—is Spider-Man. The bane of my existence. _(Noise of frustration)_ I hate him. He keeps showing up wherever I am way too many times for it to be a coincidence. He makes the stupidest jokes. His laugh reminds me so much of Mark’s. 

I’m scared of how much I might like him if I tried. 

CUE: Spider-Man and Nova, sitting on a rooftop. Both of them are kicking their legs idly. Their masks are drawn up to expose the lower half of their face; they’re both eating pretzels. They watch the sun sink low and gold across the city skyline in quiet, peaceful contentment. 

_(The first voice makes an impressively judgmental noise.)_

DONGHYUCK:

 _(Pointedly ignoring it)_ And this—

CUE: A montage. Mark, eleven years old, skateboarding on the sidewalks with Donghyuck, laughing so hard he’s sprawled flat on the rug in Donghyuck’s basement, game controller forgotten. Mark, leaning forward across the desk, smile open and earnest. Mark, bag slung over his shoulder, talking a mile a minute to Donghyuck as he shoves books into his locker. Hidden by the open locker door, Donghyuck’s fond smile is barely visible. 

—is Mark Lee. My best friend for as long as I can remember. 

CUE: A high school basketball game. The gymnasium is packed with supporters from both sides, screaming at the throng of players clustered together in the centre. Abruptly, Mark breaks away and out, and in the next second someone wrestles enough space from the throng to hurl the ball in his direction. He catches it, dribbles around a defender. Aims. Shoots.

The ball goes through the basket, a clean swish of the net. The gymnasium roars. Mark grins, incandescent, alight, and in the stands Donghyuck looks a little like he’s been sucker punched in the chest. 

DONGHYUCK:

I’ve been in love with him for years. 

* * *

Donghyuck stumbles into his AP Lit class the next morning with three hours of sleep and very confused emotions about the whole superhero debacle.

He sinks into his chair, sets his coffee on the floor, and massages his temples as he tries to think. See, no matter how much Donghyuck gripes about him, Spider-Man is really cute. Like, _really_ cute. But as endearing as his laugh and his stupid jokes and his accidental fumbles are, Donghyuck's years-long crush on Mark Lee isn't just going to magically disappear.

Is this a love triangle? He refuses to let it be a love triangle.

But come to think of it—

Spider-Man and Mark have the same stupid charm to their entire being. It’s in the things they say, or do: the smallest of little kind things, like that morning when Mark helped that freshman pick up his papers the wind scattered all over the courtyard and ended up bursting into class three minutes after the bell rang, short of breath and rosy-cheeked. Or that evening when Spider-Man helped that old lady across the street and she kissed him on the cheek in gratitude and, sitting back to relax on the rooftop opposite after a long day's work, Donghyuck swore he could see him blush. They're both just so— _good._

Donghyuck slumps forward onto his desk and groans loudly. God, he has a type.

Footsteps come to a stop beside him. "Hyuck," said type says, concern audible in his voice. "You okay?"

" 'M fine," Donghyuck says, muffled, into the desk.

"Okay." Mark doesn't sound very convinced, but he cards his hand briefly through Donghyuck's hair—feather-light, reassuring—before pulling out his chair, just behind Donghyuck. His heart does several skips in his chest. "Yell if you need anything."

Yeah, Donghyuck wants to yell. Wants to yell _Mark Lee, I'm in love with you_ at the top of his lungs; wants to shout it from every rooftop in Queens, with Nova’s mask, without. Wants to hold his hand. Wants to kiss him. Wants _him_ , so badly it hurts. Instead he just makes another inhuman noise in the back of his throat and tries to melt into the desk.

 _God._ He hates this.

* * *

DONGHYUCK:

But hey; what do you know? Sometimes—

CUE: Donghyuck, walking along the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his jacket, humming along to the music piping through his headphones. He kicks gently at the gravel as he goes. 

DONGHYUCK:

—things have a way of working themselves out.

* * *

It’s almost funny, in the end, how it works out. Donghyuck really should have seen it coming. He’s at the intersection outside the subway station on his way back home when three things happen in quick succession. 

One: Donghyuck steps onto the crosswalk. Two: He’s halfway across when a truck comes careening out of a side street and screeches towards him at full speed. 

In that moment, Donghyuck processes several things: they’re in the middle of a very busy intersection, a very busy intersection means dozens of people in their cars looking at him, and there is currently a six-wheeler truck headed in his direction that will hit him full-on if he does nothing. His options are limited to: 1) take off flying in the middle of the intersection 2) blast the truck backwards 3)—

Three: There’s a _whoosh_ sound, the feeling of arms around him, and then Donghyuck’s yanked off his feet into the air right as the truck rushes past him, so close his fingers brush the metal, so close he can feel the wind of it on his face. Tires screech. The truck keeps speeding. 

“Holy _shit,_ ” Donghyuck says, because he doesn’t think he’s capable of anything more coherent right now. His heart feels like it’s about to drop right through his stomach, both from the near brush with death and the feeling of being carried through the air in a strange, rhythmic motion. He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s a foreign feeling, to be airborne but not the one in control. “ _Holy shit_.” 

“Hey, hey,” someone says, so worried that it sounds oddly familiar, and oh, Donghyuck knows that voice. He knows it, in more ways than one. It’s the voice who asked him if he was okay just a week ago. It’s the voice who always came over and brought him his mom’s soup for when he was sick, who stayed by Donghyuck’s bedside until he got better. It’s the voice of his best friend, through and through, the one he could pick out in his sleep.

It’s also the voice of—Donghyuck opens his eyes, though he already knows who he’ll see—Spider-Man. 

Everything clicks into place at once. Donghyuck could laugh. He could cry. Spider-Man mistakes his realisation for hysteria and changes course to the nearest building. “It’s okay, dude, I got you. You’re okay.” 

The second their feet touch solid ground, Donghyuck staggers away from him, hands braced on his knees as the waves of panic and nausea and realisation sweep through him, over him. _Holy shit._ Spider-Man is—Spider-Man is—

“Donghyuck.” Spider-Man reaches for him. “Are you—”

“Nope, nope.” Donghyuck bats his hands away, jabs him in the chest. Spider-Man raises his hands in surrender. He can feel the adrenaline now; he’s dizzy with it, exhilarated, like he’s looked over the precipice of a cliff to see a hundred-foot drop. “I’m not even going to ask how you know my name,” Donghyuck adds, and it sends another little triumphant buzz through him when Spider-Man makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a muffled curse. 

Spider-Man keeps stepping backwards unconsciously. “Stay still,” Donghyuck demands, and he complies. They’re near the edge of the rooftop now, and even though there’s a knee-high wall, he can feel the fall like it’s inches away. He steps closer to Spider-Man, and they’re so close Donghyuck imagines he can hear Spider-Man’s heart, beating just as fast as his own. He already knows it’s him, but inside of his head he’s praying and hoping and wishing that whoever he sees will be it. Like a once-removed distant cousin of Schrodinger’s cat. Until you see it with your own two eyes, until the mask comes off, the endearingly annoying superhero and the best friend you’re in love with could be two different people. They could be one and the same. 

Blood roaring in his ears, Donghyuck reaches up and tugs gently on the mask. It slides right through Spider-Man’s unresisting fingers, revealing—

“I _cannot_ _believe_ you,” Donghyuck says. 

"Hi," Mark Lee says. He grins, sheepish, and it's the loveliest thing Donghyuck's ever seen. "Uh. Surprise?”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/marknoirs) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/evenings)
> 
>   
> mahae really are just 2 idiots in love
> 
> anyway not very happy with this bc i sat down and banged it all out in like 2 hours to meet the deadline and it feels like a way-too-condensed prequel :( but as i wrote it this universe grew on me, so i'll be writing a proper sequel! the next work in this series will be 10k worth of mahae seemingly unrequited pining feat. more of dream and 127 
> 
> while i envision this series to take place in the mcu, the whole screenplay-ish format is inspired by into the spider-verse! (absolutely fantastic movie btw, well worth a watch) 
> 
> comments/kudos are deeply appreciated! thanks so much for reading <3


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